Raindrop Prelude
by Limitbreaker
Summary: Fred has always kept his mind where it belonged – away from Draco Malfoy. But now Fred is gone and George finds himself unable to resist Malfoy any longer. Slash, Draco/George
1. Why do birds suddenly appear…

It was the rain's fault that virtually no customers entered the shop that day. At least, George Weasley hoped that it was because of the bad weather, and not because the end of the war meant that nobody needed cheering up anymore. George feared that he alone might not be able to keep the people interested in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Without Fred, everything seemed to go wrong, and George slowly lost all enthusiasm to work on new ideas. It was no fun anymore. It had turned into work.

The gaping hole his brother had left had absorbed all his creativity. But he could not simply place an ad in the _Daily Prophet_ that he was searching for a new muse. Well, he might, if things deteriorated further. Until now, it was hopefully only the bad weather that made him consider the worst.

With a sigh, George looked through the shelves he was cleaning and let his gaze travel along the deserted streets of Diagon Alley. He watched as a figure hurried over the cobblestone pavement, hood drawn over his face to protect himself from the rain. Apparently that also took away his ability to see _where_ he was going. George chuckled as the person slipped and fell because of an incredibly huge puddle that now soaked him to the bone.

As the person did not get up immediately, George felt the urge to go outside and at least ask if everything was okay. He had just opened the door, and his mouth to speak, as the hood slipped down revealing a white-blond shock of hair. George stopped on the doorstep and blinked against the rain, and watched as Draco Malfoy clung to a bag that looked big enough to hide Hagrid's feet in it. Or at least one of them…

When Malfoy placed a hand on his ankle, cursing under his breath, George had already attempted to get back inside. He stilled and looked at the pale figure in the rain, waiting for someone else to help, or at least for Malfoy to pull out his wand and just continue walking. But nothing like that happened and George heard a voice in his head telling him that he should not refrain from helping Malfoy because he was _Malfoy_; a pureblood, a snobby brat, a former Death Eater. This voice was telling him that the end of the war was an opportunity to start anew and not to make the same mistakes again. So he hurried over to Malfoy and grabbed his shoulder.

He did not expect Malfoy to flinch away and look at him like George was ready to curse him. Raising his hands in defence, George ducked down next to Malfoy, who held on tight to his bag, whilst shaking slightly – probably because of the cold rain.

"You okay?" George asked. But Malfoy did not answer. He just sat in his puddle and stared at George like he'd never seen him before. Forcing a smile, George pointed at Malfoy's ankle. "Are you hurt? I saw you fall." He swallowed the comment about how ridiculous Malfoy had looked as he almost turned a perfect summersault during his fall.

Malfoy wiped the wet strands of hair out of his eyes. Large drops of rain had caught in his eyelashes and Malfoy blinked hastily as he lifted his chin to look at George, letting his lashes flutter against slightly flushed skin. He looked quite adorable, especially as he tried to glare at George. Malfoy had always looked quite adorable, which was one reason why George had rarely taken the git seriously.

"My ankle. I think I sprained it." For a change, Malfoy did not destroy everything with a snarky comment. Maybe he was thinking similar things as George, trying to be a little more amenable, and for that George leant over and examined his ankle.

"Doesn't look too bad. Can you cast a healing charm?" George wanted to go back inside, but realised that Malfoy was not sitting there for the fun of it. As an ex-Death Eater, he was probably unable to heal injuries. That was not something those people had placed value on.

"Of course I can. I'm not such an incompetent…" Malfoy bit hard on his lips as George raised his eyebrows, expecting the old Malfoy's return. "I don't… have a wand…"

"Well, let's get you inside then," George said, and almost smiled because of Malfoy's stunned expression. But the corners of his mouth did not lift upwards; they had not, since Fred died. Along with his twin, his smile and the ability to laugh full-heartily had died. "It's raining cats and dogs; I can't heal this here." He grabbed Malfoy's arm and pulled him back on his feet, but Malfoy seemed to be a little drama queen and was even unable to walk with a limp.

"It's okay. Let me…" Malfoy suddenly tried to shove George away, clinging with his free hand to the bag. George grabbed it and suddenly realised the reason why Malfoy had lost his balance.

"Merlin's pants! You truly have got Hagrid's foot in there," he exclaimed. He not only received an odd look from Malfoy, but also took advantage while Malfoy was slightly distracted to rip the bag out of his hands. The cling and clatter he elicited proved that it was certainly not Hagrid's foot Malfoy carried around with him. "Now, come on." George swung his arm around Malfoy's waist and grabbed him tightly to support his weight.

"No! Wait… I…" Malfoy yelped and did not finish his sentence; the pain of being dragged along harshly showed on his face. When he was certain that Malfoy would acquiesce, George tried to be a little gentler. Malfoy was clearly uncomfortable touching him, however, as his arm hung loosely around George's shoulder, making progress difficult.

As soon as they entered the shop, George let the bag fall to the ground and closed the door. He turned the open sign around just in case someone suddenly decided to leave the warm safety of their home to buy a cute little pygmy puff.

Malfoy stared at the bag like George had just killed _his_ beloved pygmy puff.

"You don't have to tell me why you're carrying ten pounds of Galleons with you," George muttered, emphasising that he was not interested why Malfoy did what Malfoy did. Nothing good could come from that and it was better not to be involved at all. "Sit down." That George pointed at the staircase made Malfoy sneer, but he did not complain and seemed to be relieved that he could sit again, after slumping quite inelegantly down on the bottom stairs.

"Why are you helping me?"

George only answered Malfoy's question with a shrug. He focussed his gaze on the thin leg that lay across his lap. Malfoy's clothes were soaking wet and clinging to his body. As George pulled one dripping trouser leg up past Malfoy's knee, he noticed goose bumps spread over the revealed calf.

"That's unnecessarily high," Malfoy said and shoved his trouser leg back over his knee, raising his chin slightly in response to George's annoyed look.

"I'm not ogling your leg, Malfoy. It's not pretty enough for that," George retorted, and pulled out his wand to fix Malfoy's ankle.

"But you looked long enough to form an opinion," Malfoy answered. "I –" The rest of his sentence turned into a hiss, but he did not jerk away from George's hands as they pulled the shoe and sock from his foot.

"It's just a little swollen. I can fix that," George said, but when he pointed his wand at the pale foot, Malfoy moved away. "What now?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're planning something aren't you? Like removing the bones from my foot, transfiguring them into noodles, something remarkably uncomfortable."

"I didn't list all the remarkably stupid things you might do with a bag full of gold, so why don't you trust me?" George sighed as Malfoy huffed but allowed him to turn back to his ankle. "So, why don't you have a wand, Malfoy?"

"I thought you weren't going to mention any remarkably stupid things," Malfoy mumbled. "Like going outside without a wand when the entire wizarding community hates me."

"As long as they don't have anything to do with the bag of gold," George replied, avoiding the topic of Malfoy being justifiably unloved. He grabbed Malfoy's foot and turned it slightly to see if the movement still caused any pain, but Malfoy was either a good actor or the healing charm had worked surprisingly well. George was not bad with healing charms, but lately nothing seemed to go right.

"Ollivander won't give me a new one. That's why," Malfoy said while rolling his wet trouser leg back down. He didn't bother explaining why because that was clear as crystal. Keeping Ollivander locked up in his cellar for months was not the best way to earn his sympathy.

George rose to his feet. He reached out a hand to help Malfoy up but this attempt to be nice was simply ignored. He watched impassively as Malfoy tugged on sock and shoe, and then pulled himself to his feet. "And the gold didn't convince him?"

Malfoy scowled at him. "I have to go. It was – Atchoo!" He pressed a hand against his mouth, muffling the next sneeze. With a sigh, George pulled out a tissue but found it was wet from the rain. Malfoy sneezed again and his cheeks slowly filled with colour. "I better go now." He headed for the door and lifted his bag from the ground, seemingly having trouble with the weight of it.

George frowned, crumpling the tissue as he balled his hand into a fist. "You can't Apparate without a wand," he stated and reached for Malfoy's shoulder to hold him back.

"Oh, really?" Malfoy snorted, and jerked away from George's hand. He obviously was not too fond of having George's hand on his body again.

George did not care about that. His fingers encircled Malfoy's wrist and he realised with a start how thin it was. He needed virtually no strength at all to pull Malfoy back. Together with his heavy bag, Malfoy bumped against George's chest. But contrary to any expectations he did not start struggling and yelling at George not to touch him, even though he had been incredibly huffy before.

Maybe the urge to get outside was not as strong as George had thought. And maybe the reason for that was not the tumultuous rain…

"Use my fireplace," George said, searching in vain for the grey eyes. The way Malfoy avoided his gaze was not in repulsion, like George initially guessed. Malfoy seemed embarrassed. His cheeks burned uncharacteristically red, just like they had after he fell in the puddle

"Why would you do this?" Malfoy asked, still not looking at George.

He was standing so close, that under other circumstances, George would have been able to feel the warmth of his body. But a low voice in the back of his slowly clouding mind told him that wanting to feel Malfoy's body, even just the temperature, was as wrong as paying to see whatever emotion was now visible on the normally ice-cold irises. That just did not change the fact that he considered doing so.

"Because it would be wrong to send you back out in this weather. You're thin enough to be blown away in that wind. Added to the fact that you're wandering around Diagon Alley with a bag full of gold and no wand for protection…" George felt his mouth become dry as Malfoy lifted his gaze and looked at him with a confusing mixture of distrust and hope.

He had seen Malfoy's eyes gleaming like that once before. In his fifth year, after the Dementors had searched the Hogwarts Express and aroused panic among all students. Malfoy had run into the compartment George had shared with his brother and Lee, and after he had stopped acting like an untamed Hippogriff, he had looked at George like this. Hopeful that George's arms would ensure him protection, yet still suspicious that they might crush him.

Slowly, George lifted the hand that did not enclose Malfoy's wrist. He wanted to trace his fingertips over the high cheekbones up to the corner of the strangely glittering eyes, and wipe the hint of tears away. He never reached any higher than Malfoy's shoulder.

"Okay…" Malfoy stepped away from him and cleared his throat, tugging his wrist out of George's grip. "I'll use your fireplace." The old Malfoy was back and acting like he would grant George's biggest wish.

Rolling his eyes and turning around, George motioned for Malfoy to follow him up the stairs to his flat. There was a strange tickling in his fingers and he tried fruitlessly to rub it away. Something was wrong with him. But it was nothing that he could not cope with, like those horrifying feelings of being alone that made everything easy become the hardest work. The sensation that a lost and vulnerable looking Malfoy created was at least familiar and it had always been easy to fight it. Fred's death did not change that. There had to be one thing Fred's death could not change.

It definitely did not change the fact that the tickling immediately crawled over his skin again when he brushed Malfoy's fingers as he handed him the Floo powder.

"Weasley?"

The fine dust trickled through Malfoy's long fingers as he hesitated by the fireplace. He was also still dripping. George thought about offering him a towel, or using a drying charm on his robes, but he took a moment too long, and Malfoy suddenly threw the Floo powder into the chimney.

"Thank you," said Malfoy, with something that George thought had to be a smile. But before he could look closer, Malfoy stepped into the emerald green flames and disappeared.

George's heart pounded ruthlessly against his chest. The flames had already lost their green colour when he finally could move again. He stumbled backwards and fell with his back against the wall, holding onto it for balance while forcing himself to breathe. But without Fred there reminding him to do so, it felt extraordinarily hard. And even harder not to think about that smile, an even rarer thing to see on Malfoy's face.

George gazed down at his hands. No wand… A wizard without a wand was inconceivable. But it was imaginable that it was hard for Malfoy to get one, especially since Voldemort had killed most of the skilled wandmakers. But as far as George remembered, Malfoy's wand was not destroyed. It was lying amongst the old socks in Harry's trunk, waiting to touch the enviable hands of his former master once more.

Draco should get his wand back, George decided.


	2. Every time you are near?

Those enviable hands caressed the keys of a black grand piano, barely pushing them down and not eliciting a single tone. Still, Draco Malfoy looked perfectly right sitting there, his silhouette black against the bright light of the sun shining through the high windows of the music room in Malfoy Manor. The light rain falling against the windows drew hypnotising shadow-patterns on the carpet, the walls and Draco's white-blond hair.

George stood in the frame of the door for what felt like hours, the eyes of Narcissa Malfoy boring into his neck all the time. Draco's mother had shown him the way to her son and was now lingering behind the corner at the end of the hallway, making sure that George did not try to hurt Draco. But the last thing he carried around in a long box lined in black satin was a bomb.

He had Draco's wand, the first and last thing he would ever gift him. Well… He would give it to him if he finally found the ability to speak again. He might have gulped a little too loud because Draco suddenly turned around, staring at him wide-eyed but not saying a word. It was like he could not elicit a sound with his mouth, much like with his fingers on the piano.

"I didn't know you played piano," George said hoarsely.

Draco turned his head away again, looking down at the keys. "I don't… Not anymore." He shrugged. "What do you want, Weasley?"

"Your…" George gazed down the corridor to Narcissa, whose long-sleeved robe was visible behind the corner. "Your mother let me in. I have something that belongs to you." He approached Draco and escaped the stare of Narcissa, feeling relieved and so comfortable that he sat down next to Draco, instead of just giving him the wand and leaving quickly as he had planned.

Draco moved away from George, increasing the distance until their thighs were no longer touching. But he did not shove George away, and curiously examined the box held by freckled hands.

"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked, shifting his eyes up to look directly at George, who rolled his eyes and used this to avoid Draco's wary expression.

"Why are you always asking for my reasons instead of just taking it?" George shoved the box in Draco's hands and kept his eyes focused on a bookshelf on the wall. With all those notes waiting there to be played, George wondered why Draco did not play the piano anymore. With those hands he could probably make music by hitting a rock against wood. George rolled his eyes at these thoughts. A voice told him that they were quite embarrassing and this voice sounded pretty much like Fred's. It gave George the strength his legs needed to lift his body up again.

"Thank you…"

The words were so soft, barely more than a whisper. But they still had the power to turn George's legs into pudding, leaving him unable to rise from his chair. Making Malfoy as good as speechless was something special and George felt the corners of his mouth twitch because of that. If he smiled, George doubted that Draco noticed, because he appeared completely focused on the hawthorn wood in his hands – the box lay discarded between them.

"How much?" Draco asked, the same whirlwind of distrust and hope blustering in the grey of his eyes.

George frowned. "Don't want your money, Malfoy." Now it was Draco's turn to frown. "Otherwise I would've taken that bag, wouldn't I?"

Draco opened his mouth to reply, and George waited for insults, or sarcasm at the very least. But when he looked at George, Draco slowly closed his mouth again. He nodded in acceptance and started running his fingers over his wand, stroking it almost lovingly.

George regretted that he ever took the slightest look at the pale fingers moving over the blackened wood. His mouth and lips dry, George thought about some joke he could make about the shortness of Malfoy's wand, anything to make Draco stop touching it and throw him out. It was more than a little wrong to sit in Malfoy Manor, next to Draco Malfoy, and ogle him like George had sometimes done when he was nothing more than a horny teenager. But now Fred was no longer there to remind him what an awful person Malfoy was, and Draco was apparently not throwing him out anytime soon.

It seemed that Fred had even taken George's willpower with him.

"You're not scared?" Draco asked suddenly, pulling George from his clouding mind into reality. "Giving a Death Eater his wand back is remarkably stupid."

"There are no such things as Death Eaters anymore," George replied.

He noticed dark circles underneath Draco's eyes as he gazed longer into the grey depths, seeming almost black with the bright light coming from behind and creating unfavourable shadows on the pale but pretty face. Although Draco's cheeks were hollow and his skin had an unhealthy ashen tone he was still a very handsome young man. Even Fred had been forced to admit that Malfoy was handsome, because it was a simple fact, and nothing that depended on opinion or perspective.

"Thinking so is also remarkably stupid," Draco said with a sneer. "But thank you, Weasley. I promise that I won't use this for Dark Magic. At least not on you…"

"Will that be your only way to say thank you?" George was unsure what to think as Draco let out a high-pitched laugh. Putting his wand into the inner pocket of his robe, he held out the box to George, who made no attempts to touch it.

"I knew there was something else. What do you want, Weasley?" Draco narrowed his eyes slightly as soon as George opened his mouth to speak. "Don't think I've suddenly become an easy victim."

The truth was that George had not really thought about anything he wanted from Draco. Well, there was one thing he wanted – to stay. He wanted to stay just a little longer, to watch Draco, talk to him, and maybe listen as he played the piano.

"The shop… It's not working as well as I'm used to." George scratched the back of his head and thought hard about how Draco could help him, while also making Draco think that it was hard for him to ask for help. "Maybe… I thought that maybe you could…" Run around in Diagon Alley in a pygmy puff costume to advertise? Malfoy would definitely throw him out for that offer. Fred would have patted his shoulder for that idea.

"You don't want me to write you an advertising jingle, do you?" Draco asked disbelievingly.

"A jingle?" George ruffled his hair while thinking about this, making Draco grimace at the sight of his hair becoming a complete mess. He had spent quite some time combing it that morning so that the Malfoys would not throw him out immediately.

"No?" Draco raised his right eyebrow. "Because you were ogling my piano. I'm not giving you lessons if that's what you want. But if you want help with the shop then I might help you, because you helped me. I would rather not owe you something."

"And you could do that?" George eyed Draco incredulously.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I've written some quite catchy songs in the past."

"Yeah…" George nodded and once again felt the urge to grin, but the grimace that defaced his expression was probably not even close to a grin. "How could I forget that Weasley is your king?"

"It's apparently preying on your mind that the lyrics are about the wrong Weasley," Draco said with a smirk that was almost too familiar to George. He was so captured by Draco's full lips that he almost did not notice the smile tugging on his own.

"So, you think I'd be the right Weasley?" He was smiling. For the first time in months he was smiling whole-heartedly, and only realised it when Draco's elbow met his ribs.

"Stop grinning, Weasley. That song was molested by your friends by making it compliment the Weasel." Draco let out a dramatic sigh, while George was rubbing his jaw, full of confusion.

Draco Malfoy had brought his smile back. George wondered where Draco had found that almost forgotten ability, and why he had given it back to him. He did not want his smile. Sometimes, he missed it, but it was linked to an unthinkable amount of guilt, and the certainty that he would never again see that smile on his twin's face.

"And how do I know that you can still play this thing?" George placed his fingers on the piano keys and pressed one down, checking if it still worked.

"It won't make any sounds if you're that careful." Draco moved his hand over George's and pushed his fingers down onto the keys, hard and fast. The created sound was not pretty, but it was only secondary for George anyway. He was so distracted by the tickling caused by the cold fingers, that he almost did not notice Draco saying: "See, it's working."

"Doesn't mean that you still know how to use it," George added.

"More than you, obviously." Draco's eyes shifted to George's hand on the keys. "Do you play, Weasley?" He unsuccessfully tried to cover his curiosity with sounding overly disbelieving.

George shook his head. "Chopsticks, maybe. My brother Percy wanted to learn, but my parents couldn't afford the lessons." He waited for Draco to make a comment about how poor they had to be if they could not even pay for piano lessons, but Draco remained silent. George just sighed and continued: "The only time Percy ever broke any rules was when he used to sneak into Ottery St. Catchpole and play in the music store there. It turned out that he completely lacked any talent. Fred and I laughed so hard when we followed him and…" George paused, eventually shaking his head and the thought of his brother off. "Well, whatever…"

"Most people who cling too tightly to rules lack creativity," Draco said with a shrug. "But don't take that as a compliment, Weasley. Allowing oneself not to think, to make mistakes and take risks is needed to be creative, but that can be dangerous. Very dangerous." His mind seemed to be somewhere else. "Yeah, whatever…"

Silence increased the distance between them. Draco was rubbing the fingers of his right hand while staring down onto the piano keys. George was trying to remember the reasons why he should hate Malfoy.

Eventually, Draco opened his mouth again. "Why are you so nice to me, Weasley?"

George had hoped for an easier question. "I don't know… I shouldn't think that you knew it was wrong what you did, right? But I do… You helped Harry…"

"My mother did. I only tried to save my arse." Draco pressed a hand against his forehead. "I always did. And I always failed. Even if I'd tried, I could've never become a person like Potter… or you." He looked at George. "So, please excuse that I don't understand how you can sit here without ulterior motives."

"Maybe…" George bit his lip.

"Yes?" Draco almost seemed hopeful. "Just say it, Weasley. Don't make me start playing this thing just so you have something to laugh about."

"You don't know how to play, eh?" George let out a heavy sigh. "Should've known that you've still only got a big mouth, Malfoy."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco was spurred on by George's dismissive wave. "I _can_ play. It's just that – I didn't do it for quite a while. I'm a little rusty."

"Excuses." George crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Percy's probably better. Don't even want to know where you got the melody and lyrics of 'Weasley Is Our King' from…"

"I didn't steal them. I –" Draco pressed his lips into a thin line, focusing on the piano. He reached out his hand and then stopped only inches away from the keys. His fingers started shaking and his face went even paler, but before George could ask what was wrong, Draco jumped off the chair and moved hastily over to the window.

Shocked and confused, George watched Draco breathing heavily. He thought quite some time about joining Draco before he finally rose from the chair and moved to the other side of the window, leaning against the frame. Draco was looking into the garden, watching white peacocks drinking from a marble fountain.

"I lied," he said finally. "I can't play. Not good, at least. I'm not good at anything, so there's nothing I can do to thank you. Just… maybe money?" Almost hopefully he turned to look at George, who stopped in his attempt to place a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Why do I think that you want to solve all your problems with money?" George balled his hand into a fist as the urge to touch Draco did not vanish. "You lied now, didn't you? You can play, but you just don't want to. Why?"

"Is that important? After everything that happened, do you honestly care about my problems?" Draco frowned when he looked at George's tightly balled fists. "Do you want to hit me?" He stretched out his arms, almost inviting. "Do it."

George gulped hard.

"If it makes you feel better, then just get over with it. Hit me, insult me, curse me, whatever pleases you." Draco slowly lowered his arms when George did not move. "Do I need to remind you what I did to your family? You haven't forgotten that, have you, Weasley? It's all my fault. I almost killed one, got one scarred, and if it wasn't for me then your twin –"

"No," George interrupted, shaking his head desperately. "Don't… You don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"Then show me," Draco said, provocatively.

George hesitated before he stepped closer. Draco shut his eyes and turned his head in expectation of George's fist away, but instead of punching him, George pulled Draco close against him. With his arms wrapped tightly around the other body, George could feel every muscle tensing up.

"What – What are you doing?" Draco tried to turn his head, but George placed a hand on his neck to stop him. It was hard enough to resist the desire to bury his hand in the silky blond hair, but big, uncertain eyes would make George do something even stupider.

"You should rather ask _why_ I'm doing this," George said before Draco shoved him away, roughly enough to make him bump against the frame of the window.

"You think I need comfort?" Draco pointed at the piano. "You think I don't want to touch this because of some insignificant trauma? Well, you're right. The last time I annoyed someone with my music, this someone broke all my fingers separately, and kept anyone from magically healing them all holidays. And that wasn't even the worst thing that happened to me in this house – the house I'm forced to live in because not all the money in the world can return my reputation."

A single tear rolled over Draco's cheek and he wiped it away with a look of self-loathing.

"Don't act like you'd care about my problems. People think it's the least I deserve, and I think they're right. For once in my life I won't complain about that." Again, Draco wiped the back of his hand over his cheek, but George had not noticed any new tears. "I'll accept that I'm scum."

"You're not." George reached out a hand and used the next tear as an excuse to brush his fingers over Draco's cheek. "We've all gone through a lot. You maybe even more than others. I think you've suffered enough for what you did."

"You do?" Draco frowned at him disbelievingly. "You of all people?"

George shrugged. "I think it's because I can't forget the boy you've always tried to hide." He let his fingers move over the high cheekbones up to Draco's temple, stroking a loose strand of blond hair out of the pale face. "The one I once held in my arms."

Draco seemed even more confused. "What are you talking about?" Grey eyes looked at George like he had lost his mind, and maybe he had, because he bent over to Draco's mouth and captured it with his lips.

He did not get a chance to make a real kiss out of it because Draco shoved him away almost immediately, confronting George with the big eyes he had so desperately avoided shortly before. Draco moved backwards, pressing his back against the window frame.

"You're completely insane," he breathed and nodded to the door. "Get out." George opened his mouth. "Get out!" Draco turned his head away, not looking at George while his cheeks slowly reddened. George saw him licking his lips, before he turned to leave.

Maybe he was completely insane, but his sanity seemed to be the smallest loss lately…


	3. Just like me, they long to be…

Two days later, the tumultuous rain was back…

The last customers had finally left and George was ready to close the store, to get the sleep he so badly needed. But just as he went to close the door behind him, after letting Verity out, someone grabbed his arm. Before he was able to make more than a small noise of protest, he was dragged out into the rain and found himself with his back against the wall.

His assailant pulled the hood of his robes back off his head long enough to reveal blond hair. George barely had time to gasp before his breath was stolen by rough kisses. George's head banged harshly against the wall, and for a moment he thought that he was going to lose his consciousness, but his knees only felt so weak because Draco Malfoy was kissing him.

Just as he tried to return the kiss, Draco broke it, pulling away and still being there, pressing against him with his fingers clutched in George's robe. His breath came out in small cloudlets and the freshly fallen drops of rain on his lips looked like pure crystals, waiting for George's thumb to wipe them away. He did, and then cupped Draco's cheek in his palm.

"I knew you would come," he lied, trying his best not to show how excited he was to see Draco, to feel him, to taste him…

"You didn't," Draco muttered before kissing George again, frantically, needy, and when George's lips brushed over the wetness on Draco's cheeks, it tasted salty.

George stopped kissing Draco's jaw line and pulled away, waiting for Draco to open his eyes. Despite them being red and swollen, something else immediately caught George's attention. He brushed the longer strands of Draco's pony away, revealing a red and bluish mark on his temple.

"What in the name of Merlin is that?" Before Draco could turn his head away, George caught his face in his hands.

"It's none of your business," Draco snapped at him.

George rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure… What are you doing here, then? Faced death and now needing someone to get –"

"Shut up!" Draco pushed him against the wall and freed himself of George's grip. "I wanted to go to a place where I'd feel safe." Embarrassed, he lowered his head and hid his face behind wet strands of hair. "I couldn't think of anywhere else…"

George was not sure what to reply, so he just stood there for what felt like an eternity. Draco did not move either – he simply grabbed his left wrist with his hand and looked stubbornly at the ground.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Draco sneezed, rubbing his hand over his nose while George sighed.

"Won't you come in?" he asked and pointed at the store. Then he held out a hand to Draco, who looked at him slightly surprised. The corners of his mouth twitched and he nodded, before walking towards the door with George's hand on the small of his back.

The shop was already dark, and even after George magically locked the door, Draco did not appear to feel uncomfortable. Maybe he was telling the truth about feeling safe there. Draco looked around as though he could see more than just the silhouettes of products on the shelves. Then he turned around and caught George staring at him.

Before he could say anything, George waved his wand, and the resulting light almost blinded Draco. He grimaced and lifted a hand to protect his eyes. He opened his mouth to snap at George, only to find he had already headed for the stairs.

On his way upstairs, George looked over his shoulder and motioned for Draco to follow him.

"Want some tea?" George sized Draco up. "Or a towel? You don't have to seduce a towel out of me."

Draco looked away resentfully. "I didn't try to seduce anything –"

"You did," George interrupted and shook his head when Draco opened his mouth again. "Come on."

Draco hesitated for a moment, looking around as though he expected a pygmy puff to jump at him out of the darkness. As far as George knew, the pygmy puffs were not able to jump on their own and if a shadow wanted to throw them at Draco, they would not hurt. George felt like smiling at that thought but by the time he realised that maybe telling Draco would earn him a small laugh, it was too late.

Draco gave him a light push against the shoulder. "Move."

"Why the sudden rush?" George eventually smiled because Draco snorted in that familiar way. He had forgotten how cute his slightly pursed lips looked then, but if he remembered right, he was alone with that opinion, anyway. As he opened the door to his flat, he realised that he was alone in every possible way.

There was a time when the flat would not have been dark, and Fred would have been there, waiting for him, busy with the daily settlements. If he'd brought Draco with him then, Fred would have told him what a remarkably stupid idea that was, no matter how good it felt to kiss him. And Draco had not even wanted to kiss him. He'd just thought that was the only way George would let him in.

"So, why don't you go home, heal that wound and get to bed?" George asked, after turning on the lights and nodding towards the couch. His flat was small, but more than enough for him. Most of his time was spent in the shop, anyway.

"Because he knows where I live," Draco said, and from the way he cautiously examined the couch, he seemed to expect something to jump at him. But his knees appeared to give out beneath him eventually, as he sank into the couch.

"He? The one who's responsible for your bruise?" George asked from the small kitchen unit on the other side of the room. He put the teakettle on the cooker and saw, out of the corner of his eye, the mounting pile of dishes he had not cleaned in what appeared to be weeks.

"No, Merlin himself." Draco snorted. "Yes, the one who thought my face was only waiting to get to know his foot better. He certainly won't expect me to seek shelter… here."

"I see… So, you _were_ trying to seduce protection out of me…" George turned around, leaning with his hip against the counter to face Draco. "Shouldn't be surprised, should I? Still a sneaky little Slytherin. But for you to go _that_ far…" He ran a hand through his slightly wet hair and sighed as Draco avoided looking at him. "You must be desperate."

"What…" Draco grabbed his left wrist again, as if it was hurting. His knuckles were grazed, so badly that George wondered why he had not noticed before. "What if I was? What if I really only had this place to go to? What if all the people I used to call my friends now detest me? Would that make you feel pity for me?"

George nodded. "It would."

Draco looked at him again, grey eyes starting to fill with tears, and before George could really notice the shaking lips, Draco pressed a hand against his mouth. He tried hard but unsuccessfully to swallow his sobs which made George feel even more pity for him.

A crying Malfoy… George was unsure what to do about that.

Looking around, George searched for a tissue but only found a napkin. For the moment, that would have to do.

"Here." George sat down next to Draco and held out the napkin. Draco ripped it out of his hands and wiped his tears, before blowing his nose. George grimaced when Draco gave the napkin back to him.

"I'm so pathetic," he whined while George threw the napkin into the bin, quite surprised that he managed to hit it, considering the mountain of crumpled parchment it already contained. "Crying in front of a _Weasley_…"

"Hey, watch your mouth or I'll throw you out," George menaced.

Draco smiled half-heartedly. "You wouldn't. You have a crush on me."

"Uhm…" George blushed slightly. "Wouldn't call it 'crush'. More… I… I consider you attractive."

Draco looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "Attractive? Like in birds flying around your head and twittering about how beautiful every single flaw in my face is?"

"Oh, just shut up," George said. His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red and caused Draco to smirk.

"Why do birds suddenly appear?"

"Malfoy!" George pressed his hand against Draco's mouth. "Stop singing! What the… Where did you get that from?"

Draco grabbed George's wrist and pulled the hand away from his mouth. "Wrote it for you?" If he had not fluttered his lashes in that exaggerated way, George might have believed him, so he just threw Draco a warning look. "Overheard it in a Muggle café yesterday," Draco admitted. "Made me think about you, somehow. Kind of catchy, you know?"

"What where you doing in a Muggle café?" George asked to distract Draco from his once again reddening cheeks.

"Escaping," Draco said absent-mindedly. He was still holding George's wrist and now focused his gaze on it, stroking the fine red hairs on George's forearm. "It felt good, eventually. At the beginning I was just scared. Muggles have weird things… noisy things. And they're all so busy… hectic. I could watch them for hours running up and down the streets like ants."

"Draco Malfoy in the Muggle world…" George could not help but smile at the thought. "Someone should write a book about that."

"You'd be the only one reading it," Draco muttered, looking up again. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"If there was some hot sex in it – definitely." George let out something that reminded him of a chuckle when Draco slapped the back of his hand. But he had not chuckled for months, not to speak of laughed.

"You truly can be funny, Weasley." And Draco truly could smile in a very fascinating, beautiful way. And there truly were birds twittering into his ears when Draco lifted his gaze to look directly into George's eyes. "Never thought I could possibly like that."

"You like my humour?" George leant a little closer when Draco shrugged. "You do like my humour." He almost felt Draco's lips brushing over his when he said that but he was unsure if he should risk closing the distance even more. Draco's fingers dug deep into his wrist and George feared that they would not only leave visible marks, but would draw blood if he was not careful.

But when Draco closed his eyes as if in invitation, the teakettle started whistling; George wished he had not wasted any seconds.

Flinching at the chilling noise, they parted and George rose as fast as possible to his feet. He did not look at Draco as he hastened over to the kitchen, using the few moments to straighten his thoughts.

Draco seemed to be better at that – or he was simply not that affected by George's touch. When George turned around with the tea cups in his hands, Draco sat there wearing such a blank expression that George felt a stitch in his heart.

"Here…" He waited for Draco to take the cup but George only got his attention after he cleared his throat. "Careful, it's hot."

Draco nodded, using the cup to warm his hands, and once again George noticed the scraped knuckles, which reminded him why Draco was actually here.

"Won't you tell me about this?" When George reached for the bruised temple, Draco flinched again. The seconds Draco allowed George to brush the hair away from the blue mark felt like hours, but he would have waited longer just to feel the soft strands on his fingertips again. "What happened?" George asked while pulling out his wand to heal the injury.

Draco took a deep breath and waited for George to finish his healing spell before he spoke. "Do you remember Gregory Goyle?"

"One of your goon squad, right?"

Draco nodded. "He blames me… He said that Vincent's death… that Crabbe died because of me." Draco's jaw clenched as though he had trouble talking about this.

George put his tea cup on the coffee table and gave in to the urge to squeeze Draco's shoulder.

"Was this his revenge?"

"No…" Draco took a sip and grimaced. "Do you have sugar?"

"Don't try to distract me," George warned and took the cup from Draco's hand, putting it out of reach. "You're going to tell me what happened. Understood?" When Draco did not look at him, George grabbed his chin and tilted it upwards. "Come on, Draco."

The use of his first name seemed to soften Draco up a little. Again, he wrapped his fingers around his left wrist and George wanted to stop him, but he ended up with his hand lying uselessly on Draco's.

"He said that I have to pay," Draco said in barely more than a whisper. "That it's all my fault and that I don't deserve to live while Vincent is… dead. He wanted money… Don't ask me for what. Maybe to buy himself a way out of Azkaban or maybe just to have a good life… maybe he just wanted _my_ money."

"The bag… So it _was_ a bag full of Galleons?" George sighed when Draco nodded. "That's blackmail."

"No, really?" Rolling his eyes, Draco shook off George's hand and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "There's nothing I could do. Greg and I are… we were friends for more than a decade. He knows so much… too much. Father doesn't even have a clue what I told Vincent and him just to… boast. My family isn't going to Azkaban because Potter helped us, but there are many more reasons…" Draco stopped and his eyes widened full of shock. "Oh, no… and now I'm telling that to you! To a _Weasley_! That's as good as going straight to Azkaban."

"Thanks for your trust," George murmured. "I wish you'd know by now that I'm not going to tell anyone anything."

"It's just hard to believe."

"Shall I tell you something? I _used_ to have a crush on you. I couldn't… I couldn't stop staring at you and searching for any hint of compassion that was sometimes visible in your features. But Fred told me that was futile, so I stopped. I was able to push this stupid infatuation to the back of my mind. But then Fred… died, and now you're here. And you're showing me so many things that bring this old infatuation out again without there being anyone telling me it's wrong to –"

He was cut short as Draco's mouth suddenly pressed against his in a hard kiss. Draco pulled away before George could return the kiss. He looked a little shocked, his eyes wide and slightly reddened from his long dried tears. George wanted to kiss him again, but he was not sure if Draco had done this without ulterior motives this time or if he just wanted to make sure that George would keep his little secret.

"I just felt like it," Draco breathed, as though he could sense George's doubts. "And I feel like doing it again," he added and buried his hand in George's hair, dragging him back into another kiss.

It was softer than George had expected, almost lazy. He tried to keep it this way for a while but eventually the need to explore Draco's mouth won. Gingerly, George placed his hand on Draco's side and tugged him closer, deepening the kiss. But although Draco opened his mouth for George's tongue, he was still holding back. George knew that they could do better than this.

Draco's breath quickened as George pressed him as close as possible to his chest. Kept from withdrawal by the hands on his back, Draco moaned softly and started to grab at the red hair with both hands now.

He lifted one leg onto the couch and turned slightly, giving George the perfect angle to pull him onto his lap. Just as George moved to do so, Draco gave a token push against his chest. Neither of them broke the kiss, but from almost passionate, they returned to gentle and almost… loving.

But this slow kissing did not stop an almost unbearable heat from rising in George's groin, even more painful than any desire he had ever tried to suppress. He wanted Draco. Wanted him badly. And Draco had to feel something similar because he was not pushing away when George's fingers moved over the buttons of his robe to open them. He did, however, pull slightly away from George's mouth, to ask in an amused voice:

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off your robe," George muttered against Draco's lips, pressing a short kiss to them as Draco tried to say something. "It's wet. You're going to catch a cold."

"Mhm…" Obviously not believing George, Draco shrugged the black cotton off his shoulders. "You're too good to be true."

"At kissing, I hope." Again, George wrapped his arms around Draco and captured every low laugh that escaped Draco's throat. And without the robe, there was far more visible of the enticing skin. But sadly, the stiff collar of Draco's shirt was still keeping George from marking his pale throat.

"I…" Draco moved his fingers over George's chest. "I think that magenta coloured robes don't suit your red hair. Bad choice." Slowly, almost cautiously, Draco opened the buttons of George's robe. His fast breath left a swollen and tempting mouth that made George think the most inappropriate thoughts while Draco removed his robe.

"I don't need to wear them all the time. Only when I want to make my employees think that we're on the same level."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "You don't really think playing the tough business man is sexy, do you?"

"Do you?" George opened the first three buttons of his shirt without ostentation while keeping Draco's attention on his mouth. Letting his lips hover only inches away from Draco's, he always pulled back a little when Draco tried to kiss him. "Come on, Draco. Do you?"

"Well, maybe." Draco smirked. "George."

"Ah, that's like music to my ears," George said and finally stopped teasing Draco when he elicited another laugh from him. He gently pushed Draco on his back after pressing their lips together again, keeping him too busy with the kiss to even think about pushing him away.

Slender hands wandered over George's back, pulling his shirt up a little and scratching over bared skin. Draco made a soft sound of pleasure as George's hips pressed against his.

At other times it might have scared George how easy it was to forget which side of the war Draco had chosen. But now, with his hands under Draco's shirt, moving over warm, smooth skin, such thoughts were far from his mind.

At least, until Draco had to mention the topic again…

George felt Draco stiffen at the same time as he heard him gasp. He withdrew his hands and pushed himself off Draco with a look of concern.

"What's wrong?"

Draco looked at him with a surprised expression, as if he had not expected George to notice his discomfort. He was good at hiding it. The gasps could easily be mistaken for pleasure and George wondered for a moment if maybe he was just searching for an excuse to put an end to this before it became something too deep.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked warily, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Can't you just go on with it?"

George's eyes widened. "Pardon?"

Draco rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed. "I'm not… I am not afraid. I like this. Why do you think that I don't?"

"Why do you think I do?"

Again, Draco rolled his eyes and seemingly extra slowly for George. He removed his hands from George's back and folded them in front of his chest. But he could not stay like that for long. Soon, he let out a sigh and placed one hand on George's chest.

"The last time someone lay on top of me like this…" Draco turned his head away in embarrassment and he started knocking his fingers against George's chest in the rhythm of his heartbeat. "I didn't want it."

"Fuck!" George sat up in an instant. "Someone raped –"

"Bloody idiot, no!" Draco's face was deep red now and he added quietly: "I'm not a bloody girl. I punched that bastard in the face and ran away, but… it's embarrassing."

"That you acted like a Muggle?" George was not sure where the sudden urge to make a joke came from, but it worked and Draco smiled weakly.

"That people think they can do that to me." He looked up at George, and stopped knocking against his chest.

George was unsure if he really wanted Draco to know how he felt right at that moment, but the splayed hand on his chest would certainly be able to feel his erratic heartbeat.

"Our home was full of Death Eaters. When they were drunk, they…" Draco clutched his fingers in George's robe. "They sometimes tried to hit on my mother. I rarely left her side. I didn't feel safe without my parents and… I thought that maybe I might be able to protect them after I got them into the mess."

George brushed the hair out of Draco's face until his expression softened up a little. "That's… brave."

Draco chuckled. "I was frightened, not brave. We weren't in a position where we could complain about anything. Staying together was all we could do to survive, I guess." Draco looked at George, still slightly embarrassed. But there was something else in his eyes. Like he wanted George to tell him he did not need to feel ashamed. "I once told them… that they… should… rather take me before touching my mother, but… I… I never thought they would take it seriously." Draco bit hard on his bottom lip until it stopped shaking. "When that… bastard was suddenly over me I couldn't stop thinking that I deserved to be treated that way… to be completely disgraced."

George wanted to say that he would never do anything to make Draco feel that way. That he cared too much about him and wanted him to enjoy it, but all that his voice managed at the moment was to say in an irritated tone:

"Why are you telling me this?"

Draco's embarrassment increased again and he blinked hastily, as though trying to hold back tears. "Because you're the only one who's shown any interest in me." His voice was shaking and his whole body quaked in the attempt not to cry again. But with George still sitting on his thighs, Draco had to feel trapped. In that position he might even feel forced to tell George so many things.

Or maybe he really trusted him a little…

"Hey…" George helped Draco sit up and pulled him in a tight embrace. "Don't hold back, Draco. You need to cry these tears someday, and better do it in my arms than all alone in your room… or something like that."

Muffled by the thin cotton of George's shirt, the noises Draco made sounded somewhere between laughter and sobs. Minute after minute, the place on his shoulder where Draco hid his face, was getting wetter and wetter. George rubbed Draco's back, hoping for the tensed muscles to relax underneath his fingers, but really, he was not sure how to comfort someone in this way. Whenever he had tried to cheer someone up, he had made a joke, trying hard to make the person laugh again – but that was always together with Fred. Alone, he was probably not able to comfort anyone.

But somehow, Draco's sobs softened and eventually he lapsed into silence. He was lying calmly in George's arms, giving the impression that he might have fallen asleep. George carefully moved to look at Draco, who raised his head as if by command.

"Come on." At Draco's questioning look, George nodded towards the door that led into his bedroom. "I'll show you where you can sleep."

Draco grabbed George's wrist and followed him with his eyes focused on the ground.

There were two beds in the room, one was made and the other one was a mess of cushions and blankets. George pushed Draco onto the one standing next to the window, the one that was not a mess, _his_ bed. He never dared to touch Fred's bed on the opposite site of the room.

"I'll go and get you some pyjamas," George muttered, leaving the room before Draco could look at him again. In the living room, he first took a deep breath before going to the bathroom. The times when his mother had done his laundry were over. Not that she would not do it if he sent it to her, but George could not take her looks.

He still remembered that one time she had called him Fred. The most uncomfortable moment he could think of. The way everyone had stared at him had made him feel guilty. Guilty, because he was not able to act like the old George and that probably gave his family the impression that they had lost both twins.

Since then, he had stopped visiting his family regularly. Charlie had dragged him over to the Burrow once in a while before he had returned to Romania. Now, Ginny tried to replace Charlie, but she was a girl and she was physically not strong enough to drag him anywhere.

George sighed at the thought of what Charlie might have said if he'd stopped over and found someone in George's bed. Ginny would have probably screamed because it was Draco Malfoy, the personification of evil.

Shaking his head, George took the freshly laundered pyjama with him and returned to the bedroom, only to find Draco staring at the rivulets of rain that ran down the window. What made George gulp hard was that he was not wearing his trousers anymore. Neatly folded, they lay at the end of the bed and although Draco's legs were hidden underneath the blanket, just the thought of his bare skin touching the fabric made George think about the position he had had Draco in only moments ago. His shirt was opened and the white cotton fell off his right shoulder when he turned to look at George.

"Hope you don't mind," Draco said, acting completely innocent when he nodded to his trousers. "They ended up being a little tight." His smile was not so innocent anymore.

"Tell me one thing, Malfoy…" George sat down at the edge of the bed and watched Draco pulling his legs up to his chest, flinging his arms around them.

"Back to our last names, are we then?" Almost pouting, he pursed his lips.

George tried to ignore that. "Since when do you know that you like men?"

"Let's say…" Draco shrugged. "I'm still undecided."

"Are you?" Disbelievingly, George raised his eyebrows. "Because you're quite good at that seduction thing. A little obvious, maybe, but if you keep this up, it'll work."

"Ah, really? I'm just trying to make up for completely ruining the atmosphere before," Draco said with a small smile.

George shook his head. "I think that you're trying to distract me from the things you said, the tears you cried… something like that." With that he threw the pyjamas at Draco and smiled when they hit his face.

"Stop grinning like that, Weasley," Draco snorted and George would have fired something back but every word died on his tongue when Draco took his shirt off and threw it at George. He ducked in the last second and grabbed Draco's calf, pulling him harshly in his direction. Draco made a surprised noise as he landed flat on his back, his hand flying to the sheets to keep George from dragging him closer.

"Wha-What are you doing?" Draco struggled as George moved over him.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" George leant down to Draco's slightly parted mouth and regretted that he had admired the full lips too long, giving Draco the opportunity to speak.

"It's what you want to do to distract me," he said, seeming relieved when George lifted himself up again.

"I don't –"

"You don't smile as often as you did back in Hogwarts… Well, it's exactly the opposite now. Back then, you almost never stopped grinning. Now… your smile seems to be the rarest thing in the world." Ignoring George's snort at this exaggeration, Draco pointed towards the other bed. "It's your brother's, right? You haven't changed it since he's been gone, because –"

"Shut up!" George balled his hands into fists, took a deep breath and started to get up. "I'm sleeping on the couch. Have a good night, Malfoy."

Draco grabbed his hand. "George." He pulled him back down. "George…"

"I know my name," George rasped, slowly opening his hand again when Draco's fingers tried to move between his. It felt strange to hold such a cold hand and George felt the need to warm Draco's skin, which was still slightly scraped. He had forgotten to heal Draco's knuckles.

"This bed is big enough for both of us," Draco said and gifted George a smile. It was a more honest smile than George had ever seen on his face, and he just had to return it. "You know, this…" Draco traced his fingers over George's lips and eventually cupped his cheek. "This looks far better than that mischievous grin you always wore at school."

"You think so?" The stinging burning in his eyes caused George to blink far too often. "Why doesn't anyone else think so?" No longer able to deny the need to cry, George closed his eyes tightly and hoped that like this, Draco would not see his tears.

Draco moved his hand to George's neck and pulled him against his shoulder. "Better to cry in my arms than all alone in your room."

George lifted his head so he could bury his face in the crook of Draco's neck. He felt Draco tense up and the way he clumsily patted George's back showed that he was not used to giving someone comfort, but that was exactly what made feel George better. It meant that he was something special for Draco. That _he alone_ was something special.

"Draco…"

"Ah, back to a first-name basis." Draco put his hands on George's shoulders and pushed him away so that they could look at each other. "Don't worry. I think we're even now when it comes to crying."

George sighed heavily. "I feel so lonely," he said quietly and looked to the messed-up bed.

Draco squeezed his shoulders. "Me, too…" He shook his head as George looked at him. "Yes, I know you can't compare that, but… There's nothing I can do. Nothing I say will change anything, but… I'm here now."

George gulped and reached out a hand to touch Draco's cheek, moving it up into the blond hair, which again fell like silk over his fingers since it had dried completely. Draco sighed and closed his eyes, letting George pull him closer and kiss him softly.

But the way Draco returned his kiss was anything but soft. He opened his mouth invitingly, wrapped his arms tightly around George and pressed against him in a needy way that had George ripping his own shirt over his head as fast as possible.

He pushed Draco back onto the bed, biting his lower lip, and making a small moan escape Draco's mouth, before he moved his attention to the perfect pale throat. Another moan followed and Draco arched against his body when George left marks all over his skin. Draco twisted on the sheets when George's mouth reached his nipple, sucking on it and scraping his teeth over it until Draco could not suppress a cry of pleasure.

With his left hand, George reached for the drawer of his bedside table, dragging it open and searching blindly for the lube. Unable to find it, he groaned, released Draco, and sat up.

Draco gasped for breath as he watched George slicking his fingers. Impatiently, he shrugged off the rest of his clothing and spread his legs.

Biting hard on his bottom lip, Draco grabbed the rails of the bed and tried not to show the pain he felt when George's finger slid inside him. It took him a moment to relax, but then he eagerly pushed back onto George's hand.

Groaning, George added a second finger and moved over Draco, kissing him almost violently while Draco opened his trousers. He pushed them down to George's knees and laughed when George nearly fell out of the bed as he tried to shed his trousers. Draco grabbed his biceps and held him on the bed, enclosing George's wrist with the other hand to push his fingers back inside him, three this time.

George could have gladly watched him doing that all night, and Draco's eyes told him that he knew this. Regaining control of his hand, George made Draco not only close his eyes but moan fiercely when he brushed his fingers lightly against his prostate. He wrapped his legs around George's waist and lifted his hips up, but instead of thrusting deeper, George withdrew his fingers.

Draco whined when George slowly worked his way forward, pushing into him bit by bit. It was hard not to pound vigorously into the tight heat, but the painful expression on Draco's face kept George from losing all of his control. He leant down to brush his lips over Draco's temple, tasting the fine film of sweat that covered Draco's entire body by now. Draco sighed at this gesture and did it again when George started moving his hips.

He kept his thrusts gentle and slow until the small gasps Draco let out became more encouraging. Draco's legs tightened around his waist, urging him deeper, and George forgot everything about control. Lost in his own pleasure, he slammed his hips forcefully against Draco's, pounding into him ruthlessly until his orgasm was dragged out of him by Draco's shuddering body.

Panting, George pulled out, and if Draco had not rolled him to the side, he would have collapsed on top of him. Throwing his arms over his head, George felt an uncomfortable stinging across his shoulder.

"What the…" He gasped in shock when he noticed the bloody scratches on his skin. "Malfoy, you animal!"

Rolling his eyes, Draco slapped his hand onto George's stomach and then looked at his fingernails. His _short_ fingernails. Merlin alone knew how he had managed to scar George like that.

"I have your DNA underneath my nails now. If I get killed, they'll think you did it." He smirked at George, who reached out to ruffle his already completely messed up hair. Draco took advantage of George's lifted arm and sneaked underneath it and crossed his arms on George's chest. His smirk turned into a smile when George swung his arm around his shoulders.

"I won't let anyone kill you," George said. "Or hurt you again," he added, his eyes darting to Draco's grazed knuckles.

"So, you want to do this again?" Draco pressed his finger against George's lips before he could say anything. "I will only allow a 'yes'. I hope you're aware of that." George kissed the tip of Draco's finger. "Uh… you now tasted George Weasley DNA. How's that? Worth its own ice-cream flavour?"

George let out a loud laugh that shook his whole body. "Gross!" He flicked his fingers on Draco's forehead and took a deep breath. "You're gross, Malfoy."

"You are too," Draco said and leant into the touch of George's hand that now cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes and nestled his temple against George's shoulder, letting him play with his hair. "Tell me one thing, George…"

"Depends on what you want to know," George said.

Draco drew invisible lines between the freckles on George's chest and asked: "Since when?"

"What?" George frowned at Draco, who lifted his head again.

"Since when are you so deeply in love with me?" The smile on Draco's face was adorable and his sparkling grey eyes made these stupid birds appear again to tweet directly into George's ear.

George laughed again, trying to hide his embarrassment. "I was never 'in love' with you, Draco. I think I'm way better off calling the desperate need to fuck you a crush." The birds poked violently against George's temple but he kept smiling at Draco, whose smile seemed forced now.

"Yeah, I guess there's at least one thing I'm good at…" Draco released himself from George's grip and turned around, his back facing George now.

Confused, George placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Not one for cuddling?"

"Just can't sleep on that side." Draco's voice was muffled because he was speaking into the pillow.

"Okay. No prob!" George shifted and snuggled close against Draco's back, wrapping his arm around the slender waist. "Have a good night, Draco darling. I'll take care of your blackmailer tomorrow." He placed a kiss on Draco's shoulder but received not even a sigh in return. Leaning over Draco he realised that he had apparently already fallen asleep.

George kissed his cheek before reaching for his wand and switching out the light.


	4. Close to you

The next morning, Draco was gone.

At first, George had assumed he would be in the bathroom, but when he had not found Draco there and given up the hope of him coming back with breakfast, he realised that something had gone utterly wrong. Then, he was suddenly worried that something might have happened to Draco, although he could not think what.

It was sometime during work that he came to the conclusion that Draco had simply been overwhelmed by his emotions, and that when he woke up he had realised what a mistake it was to get romantically involved with a Weasley. George might be able to forget who Draco used to be, especially without Fred constantly reminding him, but Draco was more prejudiced than he was.

George sighed heavily and squeezed a pygmy puff that purred delightfully between his fingers.

"Are you listening to me, George?"

George nodded, throwing the pygmy puff into the air and catching it again.

"Then tell me what Malfoy said."

George shook his head slightly and noticed Harry for the first time. He blinked and wondered how long Harry had been standing on the other side of the counter.

"Hi, Harry." George sat the pygmy puff on the counter. "You want that one? It's particularly soft."

Harry frowned. "You weren't listening, were you?"

"Pardon?" George let out another sigh when Harry looked at him over his glasses. "Sorry… I was…" It was still raining and outside on the streets someone slipped on the wet surface. But different from Draco the person was caught by a friend and pulled back on his feet.

George grabbed the pygmy puff again, stroking its fur while he thought about what had gone wrong. For a moment everything had seemed so perfect. George could not remember the last time he had been this happy. And Draco had been so honest, and seemed equally as happy. George did not want to believe that he had been hoodwinked by Draco.

Or did Draco think that George had only played with him? Had he taken something George had said too seriously?

"Oh, shit…" George nearly slammed the pygmy puff on the table, but Harry grabbed his wrist before he could do so.

"George, I know these things like being thrown around, but that's a little rough," said Harry, a little shocked. "Are you all right?"

"I need to go," George said and hurried around the counter. He was already on his way to the door when he turned to face Harry again. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he said: "Could you look after the store for a moment? Verity will be here very soon." Harry opened his mouth to respond, but George was faster and ran towards the door, a last "thank you" on his lips.

On the step of the door he Disapparated and found himself in front of Malfoy Manor only seconds later. The rain here was harsher and the wind blew it straight into George's face, leaving him soaking wet in seconds. Dragging his magenta coloured robe tighter around his body, George walked towards the front door and rang the bell. Nervously, he rubbed his hands together and stepped from one foot to the other until a house-elf opened the door.

"Hi…" George cleared his throat. "I'd like to see Draco."

"Master doesn't want to see you." The house-elf gifted him an apologetic look and wanted to close the door, but George held it open by pressing his hand against it. The house-elf struggled to close it and keep George out, but if necessary George would just kick him out of the way.

"Mr. Weasley?" a female voice came from inside. George leant over the house-elf and turned his head to the right, seeing Draco's mother coming out of another room. "You, again?" She waved dismissively at the house-elf and approached George. "What is it this time?"

"I'd like to talk to your son," George said, shaking the wet hair out of his face and earning a disgusted look from Narcissa Malfoy for dripping on her carpet. "He's here, isn't he?"

"Same room as last time," Narcissa said and nodded towards the stairs. "Shall I lead the way?"

George wanted to tell her that he knew she would sneak after him anyway, but he swallowed that comment and shook his head. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." He offered her a smile that she apparently did not want and then headed for the stairs. He still remembered the way to the music room, but even if he had got lost in the hallways, the sounds of piano music would have led him.

There was a constant drone caused by the repeating of one tone which almost reminded George of the rain. Together with the pure and mellow melody floating over these repetitions of notes, it gave a sentimental impression that did not suit Draco at all.

George glanced over his shoulder and caught Narcissa looking around the corner. He raised his eyebrows and was quite sure that Draco's mother went back to whatever she was doing before, looking quite embarrassed. And he preferred that definitely, because he wanted to be alone with Draco.

Softly, he opened the door and slipped soundlessly into the room. Draco was sitting at the grand piano, charming magical sounds out of the keys. Just as George wanted to close his eyes and listen more carefully, the melody took a turn, changing the sentimental nuance into sinister dramatic. George flinched slightly when Draco pressed the keys down resentfully, still eliciting a sound that was full of yearning.

With his heart beating hard up to his throat, George would have turned to leave. But the following resolute-sounding notes, together with the still-droning raindrop sounds, contained a calm acceptance and a nearly soporific effect.

"Draco?"

The echo of the last key Draco pressed filled the room for a moment and then slowly disappeared, leaving only an oppressive silence behind. Draco turned his head slightly, only far enough to look at George out of the corner of his eye.

"Weasley, what a pleasant surprise." Draco's voice was cold as ice.

George swallowed his still-pounding heart and moved closer to Draco. "I see that you started to play again." He waited for Draco to make a little room for him on the piano bench, but it seemed like he could have waited forever. When he made a move to sit down, Draco rose to his feet and walked towards the window.

"Raindrop Prelude, just because it's raining." Draco remained silent for a while and did not turn around to look at George. Instead, he continued to gaze out of the window. "I blame you," he eventually said.

"For the rain?" George's smile disappeared when Draco flashed him another icy glare. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're not supposed to be here," Draco said, turning back to the window. Crossing his arms defensively, he watched the rain run down the glass. "I think I need to tell the house-elves to iron their hands."

"You'd need to tell your mother to iron i_her_/i hands." Again, George tried for a smile but eventually gave up when Draco pursed his mouth bitterly. The silence he wove expertly around them was a benefit to the rain, but it was nothing but punishment for George.

"You could still throw me out if you really wanted to," George said and made a step toward Draco, who spun around and glared at him, making him freeze on the spot.

"If you want me to throw you out, fine by me," Draco snapped at him in a snobbish and superior way. "But I thought that maybe…" He narrowed his eyes almost challenging. "Maybe you have something to say to me."

"I have a million questions!" George watched Draco raise his chin slightly, as though he was preparing for a comprehensive survey. "Don't you know what I'm talking about? Why did you just leave me, without even a message? Do you know how that makes me feel?"

Draco's eyes stayed cold. "Well, Weasley, I thought you got what you wanted. Should feel good…"

George growled and felt the sudden urge to punch Draco right in the face. "I think it's more like _you _got what _you_ wanted. Shelter from the storm you provoked. And for safety you would have done anything."

"Survival is paved with selfishness." Draco lifted his hand and examined his nails with a bored expression, most likely making sure that George noticed that he still had not healed his knuckles, which were still scraped.

"And it's selfish to make me feel good? To comfort me?" George approached Draco, who looked away resentfully. "Stop acting this way! I've seen a different Malfoy. One I like much more."

"Oh… You would take every man I ever was, am, or could be." Draco's hand fell to his side and his frosty façade broke, leaving him with anger etched in every line of his slowly reddening face. "Because my personality isn't changing my appearance. And that is just fuckable, isn't it? But I'm not going that low to be nothing more than the… the sex kitten of a bloody Weasley!"

"What the… What…" George tried to swallow his anger at these words, having expected some stupid misunderstanding like this. "What makes you think this?"

"You said it," Draco fired back, crossing his arms in defence. His eyes narrowed in anger and he scowled forcefully, when George did not respond to him. "It must've been hard to play the knight in shining armour when all you wanted was to get in my pants."

George could no longer deny the need to hit something and slammed his hand against the piano. Draco hissed, almost in pain.

"Watch it, Weasley. That thing costs more than your stupid shop brings in."

"You… better watch it yourself, Malfoy." George avoided looking at Draco's raised eyebrow and used his sleeve to rub over the place where his hand had left a small spot on the black coating of the piano. Frustration pulsed lightly in his temples, and George opened his mouth just to snap it shut with an audible clack a moment later. He could not find the courage to say what he wanted to tell Draco. He was unsure if it was _right_ to tell Draco about his feelings, because he could hear his brother's voice repeating over and over again how wrong it was.

But in the end, Fred's voice was only an echo. Listening to him would not make anything turn for the better. It might be time for him to take his life into his own hands.

Draco said nothing for a while, then: "If you don't have anything else to say, leave."

"What do you want me to say?" George demanded in a loud voice with his hand close to violating the piano again. "That I love you, want to marry you and build a house at the ocean in record time?"

Draco blushed lightly, but the way he snapped back hid his embarrassment: "I want security." He lowered his gaze, eyes tracing the patterns on the carpet. "But it's remarkably stupid to think I'd find this with a Weasley. You all hate me. You cannot forgive me. I thought that maybe… because you said you liked me before… But you just wanted to fuck, and soon enough you would have realised what a remarkably stupid idea it was to ever get involved with me and then I'd end up –"

"Shut up," George said and pressed his hand against Draco's mouth, letting him babble into his palm. "Draco, shut up now." Pushing Draco roughly against the wall, George's goal was aided by Draco who was no longer struggling to free himself. He only looked at George, his grey eyes big and piercing into him like they wanted to pin him against an invisible wall.

George leant closer, whispering the next words: "I showed you what you mean to me. Remember?" Placing his other hand on Draco's hip, George pressed him flat against the wall and moved closer until he could keep Draco in place with his body. He felt Draco's breathing speed up as he moved his hand between the sides of his robes and over the buttons of the shirt underneath. "Remember how I made you feel?"

Draco nodded helplessly. The grey of his eyes seemed darker, and his breath was warm and damp against George's palm.

"Wouldn't feel that way if I had nothing else in my mind other than getting you in my bed, right?" George tried for a smile but when Draco shrugged slightly, the corners of his mouth immediately dropped down. "I… You're kidding me, aren't you? I did other things for you – without even knowing that you were into men. Doesn't that prove how you make me feel?"

When Draco licked his lips, George removed his hand from his mouth but kept it on the pleasantly warm cheek. "I was just… so disappointed… that you don't like me the way I thought I could like… you…"

"Well, because you still need to get to know me better to feel what I feel for you," George said and lifted Draco's chin to have a better look at the smile that gingerly tugged at Draco's lips. It was still far from a sincere smile, and needed the strength of George's kiss to unfold its entire beauty.

"I should probably feel sorry," Draco breathed against George's wetted lips. "For thinking too much."

"Later…" George kissed the supple lips once more and it did not take long until Draco returned it, allowing George's tongue into his mouth and digging his fingers into George's robe to pull him nearer. Sturdy, pale hands moved over his chest to his back, and a moan reverberated between them that George was not sure was his own or if it belonged to Draco.

George was ready to lose himself in the torturous heat caused by intense kisses that simply could not be deep enough to demonstrate his desire. But he never got the chance to use different methods to show Draco how much he wanted him, because the noise of high heels approaching made them jump apart at exactly the right moment to see Narcissa Malfoy open the door.

"Mother?" Draco blinked hastily and let the visible dark lust in his eyes congeal into the usual coldness. "Didn't you know they invented this thing called 'knocking'?" His voice was full of defiance which turned to discomposure when he noticed the tray his mother was carrying. "What's that?"

"You have a guest, Draco. It's considered polite to serve them drinks," Narcissa replied as she carried the tray towards the piano.

"Not on the…" Draco grimaced because his mother simply ignored him and placed the tray on the piano.

"So, Mr. Weasley…" Narcissa paid no attention to the painful noise her son made, and sized George up warily. "I'm seeing you quite often here. What is it exactly that you want from my son?"

"Err…" George looked helplessly to Draco, who ran a hand through his supernal hair that now caught George's gaze like a flame a moth.

"I'm helping Mr. Weasley with some advertising jingle stuff, Mother," Draco said in a derisive voice. "And I owe him something for my wand," he added a little morose, but his mother nodded in comprehension.

"That's why you're playing again?" she asked and folded her hands. "It was a pity not to use this beautiful instrument. My son is a natural talent, Mr. Weasley." She raised her chin proudly, and out of the corner of his eyes, George noticed a light pink shimmer sneak across Draco's cheeks.

"So I hear," George muttered.

Narcissa was obviously disappointed that George did not praise her son more. "Well, then. If you need anything…"

"I'll call a house-elf," Draco interrupted with a stiff smile.

His mother returned this, and after a nod to George, she turned around and left the room again. Draco let out a gasp that sounded like he had just run a marathon and the way he leant against the wall emphasised that even more.

"A jingle, yeah?" George smiled when piercing grey eyes bored into him, not letting Draco think for the glimpse of a second that he could scowl him into silence.

"The last time you were here my mother already thought you'd try to kill me. I think we're better off this way for a while." After a lengthy pause in which he just stared back at George, he finally moved back towards the piano, sitting down at it. "It's not poisoned. Or at least I think so," he responded to an unasked question but most likely just to break the silence.

"For a while?" George managed to say and followed Draco, this time receiving some space on the piano bench to sit down. He did, and he was sure that his features were victorious.

Draco shrugged, lay his fingers on the piano keys and played a melody that made George laugh because it brought out the memory of birds suddenly appearing and tweeting drippy love songs. He reached out and took Draco's hand into his, keeping him away from the keys and searched for Draco's eyes. When Draco's gaze finally met his, there was a mesmerising glint in the grey irises.

"It still makes me think about you," Draco said quietly, and for the first time George considered that maybe there were also birds singing straight into Draco's ears.

George squeezed Draco's hand. "You should show me where you heard it."

A magnificent smile appeared on Draco's face and he nodded. "I'd love to."

"And I'd love to hear that other melody once more," George admitted. He placed Draco's hand back on the keys, already missing the soft fingers between his.

Draco apparently tried to hide the deep shade of red on his cheeks by looking away, and when he looked out of the window and realised that it had stopped raining, he chuckled. "Well, I guess our prelude is over, George," he said and turned back to George. "No more raindrops."


End file.
